


Yellows and Blues

by Felgia_Starr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, F/M, Homophobic Language, Offensive Jokes, Riddikulus Fest 2019, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-17 23:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18108758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: Draco Malfoy is forced to spend his summer in Faerieland City when he wishes he's in Dubai instead. He expects his stay to be awfully boring, but then he meets Hermione Granger.





	Yellows and Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Draco disguises himself as a girl in order to find out the kind of guy that Hermione likes. He didn't mean to like it so much.

“Cheer up, Draco.” Pansy beamed, pinching his cheeks until his lips were forced into a smile. “We’ll have fun, I promise.”  
  
Draco swatted her hands away from his face, his scowl deepening. He was _not_ going to cheer up and have fun—not when he was forced to spend his entire summer in this Godforsaken island while his parents had the opportunity to waste all their money in Dubai.  
  
It was simply not fair. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were apparently having their fifth honeymoon in Dubai—after renewing their wedding vows for the millionth time a few weeks back—and they hadn’t wanted to drag Draco along with them for the sole fact that they were hornier than hormonal fifth-years. They were disgusting, but Draco would’ve tolerated their repulsive behaviour if he were out being blessed by the beautiful city of Dubai.  
  
So, as a terrible alternative, his mother had sent him to join his friends on a trip to this advertised ‘summer heaven’ called Faerieland City, telling him that he needed to go out and socialize more.  
  
He could socialize just fine if he were in Dubai.  
  
Sneering at the sunburnt witches and wizards crowding the beach, Draco cast another layer of the Sun-Shield Charm on his own skin. The last thing he wanted was to look like one of those burnt pieces of chicken Dobby used to serve him. He liked his skin the way it was, ethereal and otherworldly. He knew he looked like an angel and would like to remain that way.  
  
“I’m sure Dubai doesn’t have beaches like this,” Tracey said from behind him, clutching his shoulder as an attempt to comfort him. Wrong. Dubai was infinitely better than whatever Faerieland City had to offer.  
  
“You’ve never been to Dubai, Tracey,” he pointed out frustratedly, crossing his arms. “I bet you can’t even afford the Portkey for the bloody place.”  
  
He heard Blaise and Theo laugh at his comment, and he instantly felt validated.  
  
“Do you think they’ll have actual faeries?” Daphne piped up, tying her blonde hair into a ponytail with her wand. “Or do you think it will just be a charm?”  
  
“Faeries don’t exist,” claimed Millicent, a confused frown on her lips.  
  
“Yes, they do, Millie,” Theo chimed in, rolling his eyes. “I’ve told you this a million times before—acting dumb isn’t pretty.”  
  
It was Blaise who ultimately answered Daphne’s question, “It’s probably just going to be a holographic charm, Daph.”  
  
“Can we just go to the hotel, please?” Draco now felt the heat seeping into his Sun-Shield Charms. His scalp had begun to sweat a long time ago, and his hair was now dripping because of it. He shuddered, thinking of the million showers and baths he would surely take once they reached the hotel.  
  
Tracey laughed, noticing his perspired state. “Yeah, Draco’s melting over here.”  
  
“Oh, we’re not going to stay at a hotel,” Pansy informed him.  
  
What? How had they failed to tell him this before now? Where the hell were they going to stay?  
  
“Don't fucking tell me we're staying at a cheap cottage, Pansy,” he growled, his hair standing up just by thinking of it.  
  
“We are,” Pansy confirmed with a fake innocent look. “What’s wrong? The whole point of this trip was to save as much money as possible.”  
  
Draco groaned, feeling an urge to grip his hair in frustration. “Why do we even need to save money? We’re rich!”  
  
“Our _parents_ are rich,” Theo corrected, the infuriating know-it-all he was. “You’re not going to leech off daddy Malfoy’s money forever, are you, Draco?”  
  
He scowled at him. “Daddy Malfoy’s money is going to be mine when he dies, anyway.”  
  
Pansy tutted. “Oh, that’s just insensitive.”  
  
“Let’s just go, please!”

* * *

The little wooden cottage was located on the end of the beach. It had a kitchenette, one toilet, a tiny sitting room, and two bedrooms. Draco felt like he was staying in the dirty dungeons of his home. To make matters worse, Blaise and Theo made him share a bedroom with the girls, meaning Draco was supposed to sleep in a bedroom with three other people for the whole summer.  
  
Even though he resented the idea of sharing his bedroom, Draco knew that the girls were tidy and neat, unlike Blaise and Theo, who scattered their rubbish and dirty clothes around the floor.  
  
Just having a change of robes after a needed shower, Draco lay on the soft white bed and shut his eyes, sighing deeply. The bed felt like heaven, but knowing his friends, they would definitely make him sleep on the floor tonight.  
  
Didn’t mean he could sleep on the bed for the rest of the afternoon, though.  
  
Wrapping the white sheets around him, he prepared for a short nap.  
  
He’d been dreaming of himself, wearing expensive clothes and lounging in a balcony in Dubai when he heard some call out his name.  
  
Still half-asleep, he mumbled, “What?”  
  
“Can I try my new eyeshadow palette on you?” It was Tracey who’d spoken, her light voice flitting over to Draco’s ears. “The others won’t let me.”  
  
“Sure,” he answered, eyes still shut as he snuggled deeper into the pillows.  
  
He heard her squeal in excitement before commenting, “Draco’s a much better friend than you guys.”  
  
A few moments later, he felt her hands pushing him into a position where he lay on his back and his face was hers for the taking. The feel of the soft strokes of her eyeshadow brush on his lids gradually soothed him back to sleep, and before he knew it, he was dreaming again.

* * *

This was the shittiest party Draco had ever been in. There was no music, no alcohol, and the most sinful of them all—no hotties. The party felt more like the night of his aunt’s divorce—just plain dull, quiet, and Firewhiskey-free.  
  
He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how in the hell his friends had managed to laugh their arses off in this kind of a party, but they were, and their laughs were beginning to annoy him now, to be honest.  
  
He took a small sip of the bland, fruitless, and boring juice apparently native to Faerieland City, aptly named Faerie Sap.  
  
When Draco thought of faeries, his mind conjured images of an ethereal being with barely-visible wings, leaves for robes, and long blonde hair he would be jealous of. He thought of light, rainbows, and pretty things when he thought of faeries, and if he would make a drink named after them, he would definitely to capture those said pretty things.  
  
He glared at the glass in front of that was full of thick white liquid, refusing to believe this was the best Faerie Sap they could do. If anything, the drink should be named Adam’s Essence or something, because it looked and tasted more like raw spunk than faerie juices.  
  
“Draco, truth or dare?” Millicent asked him, a giggle already bubbling out of her lips. What a dumb twit. He loved her, truly he did, but the girl was far dumber than he could handle. Also, what a dumb game.  
  
He rolled his eyes at her, feeling his irises hitting what seemed to be his frontal lobe, but decided to entertain them. “Truth.”  
  
“What would you do if you had a million Galleons?” A stupid question coming from a lovely stupid girl. He already had a million Galleons in his vaults, thank you very much.  
  
“Go to Dubai,” he muttered bitterly, forcing another gulp of Adam’s Essence down his throat. He’d met a real Adam last year, a wealthy and good-looking Mr Adam Chaucer. He was French and much older than he was. Draco realized he’d been attached to him way more than he thought.  
  
Pansy snorted. “That’s a boring answer.”  
  
“Don’t ask boring questions, then,” he said, looking down at his glass miserably and wishing he was actually tasting Adam Chaucer’s essence at the moment.  
  
Ensuring his friends knew where he was headed, he got up from his seat and went to the toilet. He’d smuggled Tracey’s purse and had been planning to recreate the brilliant eyeshadow look she'd done on him when he was asleep.  
  
On the way there, however, Draco caught sight of the bane of his existence.  
  
_Ron Weasley._ _  
_ _  
_ The sight of his red hair and long limbs worsened Draco’s night considerably, and when the bumbling carrot-head noticed him, his hold on Tracey’s purse tightened and he readied himself for a fight.  
  
Cursing the cruelty of the fates, Draco turned his glare to the great hero himself, Harry fucking Potter, who was standing next to his sidekick.  
  
Ever since first-year, he considered the Weaselbee and Pothead as his sworn enemies. They’d all went to Hogwarts, an all-boys school, and they’d made sure that their dislike for each other was known.  
  
It had all begun on the very first day of their first-year. Draco had seen Weasley and Potter together, laughing like old friends, and wanted to join in and befriend them. Of course, being the absolute prick Potter was, he’d politely told Draco to go fuck himself—in first-year terms.  
  
_Fuck me_. He had to walk past them to go to the bathroom. He hadn’t had the energy to come up with smart comments and scathing insults; he just wanted to go home and lie on his soft bed while his house-elves served him.  
  
He tried his very best to ignore them, for the first time in his life not wanting to stoop to their level.  
  
But then, Weasley uttered something maddening, “Didn’t know they allowed real fairies here in the pub, Harry.”  
  
Knowing that his words were a jab to his sexual orientation, Draco saw red—specifically, the Weasley shade of red.  
  
When they were younger, Weasley had always insulted and degraded his ‘preference’, obviously thinking it was alright for him to assume Draco was gay—which he was not. Above all else, he hated people misidentifying him.  
  
“Funny,” he commented, his nose starting to hurt from all the sneering he had to do, “I didn’t know they allowed vagrants here either. Did you have to sell your bollocks to get here, Weasley? Wouldn’t be surprising.”  
  
Weasley laughably turned red, his fat cheeks turning magenta. “I’m not a fucking poof like you, Malfoy.”  
  
Ignoring the pang in his chest from the insult, Draco nodded mockingly, smirking. “You’re right, you’re nothing like me. Sorry, I just forget sometimes that I’m rich and you’re a homeless peasant.”  
  
“Did you get that Chanel purse from your sugar daddy after a good round of butt-fucking, Malfoy? Fits your aesthetic.”  
  
“Yes.” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Your family would know all about sugar daddies, won’t they? After your sister married—”  
  
“Don’t talk about my sister!”  
  
“Your brother, then,” he amended, smirking. “The one who married the rich Veela—I heard he quit his job right after their wedding.”  
  
Weasley’s nostrils flared, and Draco thought, for one second, he’d won, but he kept yapping his mouth, “If we’re talking about sugar daddies, we can’t let the conversation pass without a mention about your mother, can we?”  
  
Draco snorted at the pathetic attempt. “Nice try, Weasley, but we both know that my mother is richer than yours—even before she met my father. Wish I could say the same about your fat mum.”  
  
Weasley almost launched himself at him, only being held back by Potter. “Oh, you useless fer—”  
  
“Don’t let him get to you, Ron,” he heard Potter mutter in Weasley’s ear.  
  
About to let out another crude retort, Draco opened his mouth to speak when a new female voice interrupted him. “What’s going on here?”  
  
Frowning, he turned to look at the direction where the voice came from, and as soon as he got a good look at the girl, his entire world halted instantly.  
  
Draco almost lost his grip on Tracey’s purse.  
  
A short woman with the most beautiful golden skin he’d ever seen stood in front of the girls’ loo, having just come out, already glaring at him through those captivating eyes.  
  
Wow. Who was this?  
  
She had big brown curls that framed her small face. She wore a pastel yellow jumper which made Draco frown, but he had to admit that the colour suited her skin. The baby blue frumpy skirt that hung over her legs was a horrendous sin, though.  
  
Draco concluded that the girl wore too many pastels after looking down and catching a glimpse of her beige sandals but decided that it was alright when it came to her—even though he wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere wearing pastels, the girl made him appreciate the colours more.  
  
He smiled subconsciously, mussing up his hair as he sent her a seductive look. “Well, who are you?”  
  
“Hermione, let’s go,” he heard Potter hiss, reaching out to pull the girl’s arm over to him.  
  
Draco’s smile dropped; he did not approve of Potter’s manhandling of the girl.  
  
“No.” His gorgeous queen, apparently named Hermione, glared at Potter, getting her wrist back from him. “I heard you fighting before I went out. What’s going on? Who’s this?”  
  
Another besotted smile lit up his face when he caught his angel glancing at him questionably. He parted his lips, ready to introduce himself to this lovely woman when Weasley cut him off.  
  
“He’s an old classmate,” the red-haired demon grumbled, crossing his arms like a vexing child, “the most well-known and infuriating prat in our Upper School.”  
  
Even though Draco’s smile faltered and twitched, he opted to ignore Weasley, proceeding to introduce himself anyway, “My name is Draco Malfoy, sweet girl, and I would love more than anything for you to get to know me.”  
  
Silence ensued. Hermione blinked at him, clearly dumbfounded. Potter fidgeted from one foot to the other, gazing around the pub nervously and looking more confused by the minute. Weasley’s cheeks turned redder than ever, looking as though he was about to burst.  
  
Draco’s heart thumped against his ribs in a twinge of pain as the silence continued to overwhelm them. He wanted to open up the Chanel purse he still held in his hand and curl up in there forever—or at least until Hermione forgot all about the way he embarrassed himself.  
  
Then, she laughed.  
  
He shifted his hold on the purse, attempting to make it so it could act as a sort of shield from the humiliation that was surely about to come.  
  
Weasley and Potter joined in on her laughter soon after, and Draco just wanted to bury himself in the ground. He felt his cheeks heating up in discomfort, and he had a feeling he was going to be redder than the entire Weasley family if he stayed in their vicinity any longer.  
  
Why couldn’t his parents just take him to Dubai with them? He would’ve stayed out of their pristine blonde hair, anyway. It wasn’t like he looked forward to see his practically ancient parents procreate.  
  
“Draco!” Daphne’s voice called out from behind him.  
  
He heaved a sigh in relief, sending a prayer to whatever divine being that was above them for bringing forth his saviour.  
  
He felt Daphne’s long nails digging into his arm as she clutched it, pushing him behind her to protect him. He was grateful—he was, truly, at least until she opened her big, social justice warrior mouth.  
  
“You were bullying him, weren’t you?” shrieked Daphne, throwing her arms all about. “You were making fun of him! And laughing at him! He’s a good person! Just because he wears makeup and he prefers men doesn’t mean—!”  
  
He instantly pulled her back beside him, hissing a warning, “Daphne.”  
  
“They totally were!”  
  
“I’m not gay!”  
  
Daphne’s expression softened and slowly raised her arms for a short hug. “Draco, it’s perfectly fine that you are—”  
  
He flinched at the feel of her sweaty armpits on his expensive coat. “Yes, it’s fine, but I’m not!”  
  
“See what you did!” Daphne turned to the trio with an accusatory finger. “Now he feels insecure!”  
  
“I’m not insecure,” he mumbled, knowing it was of no use.  
  
When she finally pulled away from him, Draco was shocked to learn that Weasley and Potter actually looked a tad bit guilty. Hermione, though, remained indifferent ever since Daphne’s arrival. Realizing so admittedly made Draco feel like shit—he wanted to make Hermione feel… things.  
  
“God!” Daphne threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “You homophobic people are so outdated already! It’s 2019, for fuck’s sake! Wasn’t your Headmaster in Hogwarts gay?”  
  
“Dumbledore?” Weasley gasped to Potter.  
  
“Yeah, he was,” Potter whispered. “Didn’t you see how he—”  
  
“I hope people like you burn in Hell!” Without warning, Daphne grabbed his hand and pulled him across the room to their table.  
  
And all throughout the evening since then, Draco’s eyes kept searching for Hermione’s gorgeous little form.

* * *

“Cheer up, Draco,” Pansy tried to comfort him, rubbing a hand across his back. Shockingly, the words did nothing to cheer him up at all. If anything, it just reminded more of his woes.  
  
He clung to the pillows more tightly, feeling his cheeks redden in embarrassment as he thought of what happened last night again. He felt like an idiot. He should’ve known better than to talk to Hermione directly in front of the dolts she must consider as friends.  
  
“What’s going on with him now?” Tracey asked from across the room, throwing a Snitch onto the wall and into her hand repeatedly for some reason.  
  
“He’s been like that since he encountered Potley and Weatter last night,” Millie explained, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair.  
  
He fiddled with his fingers on top of the pillows, absentmindedly correcting, “Potter and Weasley.”  
  
Daphne scoffed from behind the book that was floating in front of her. “They insulted him, I’m sure of it. Just like Blaise and Theo said before—they must’ve called him all sort of offensive names.”  
  
“You told them I was gay!” Draco exclaimed, aiming for Daphne’s head before he threw the pillow at her. He watched in disappointment when the pillow missed her by a long shot.  
  
“Daphne,” Pansy warned in a chastising tone, and for a small foolish moment, Draco thought she was on his side this time, “I can’t believe you outed him without his permission!”  
  
He groaned, slamming his face into the duvet.  
  
He heard Tracey chuckle. “Yeah, that’s kind of shitty, Daph—even for you.”  
  
“You should’ve let him come out when he felt it was comfortable,” Millie chimed in, most likely staring at him with pity. “Not a cool move, Daphne.”  
  
“I’m not gay!” he shouted out for what seemed to be the billionth time in his life, his words obviously muffled by the sheets.  
  
Blaise’s footsteps, followed by Theo’s, padded inside the room. Great. Those were two more people ready to assume his gender.  
  
Draco raised his head to glare at them.  
  
“What’s going on?” Blaise plopped down on a pillow that was on the floor beside him. Theo made himself comfortable in Draco’s side of the bed.  
  
“Draco’s feeling like shit again,” Pansy answered, sighing like his problems were hers to face as well.  
  
Theo snorted, fluffing the pillows. “Is there a time when he doesn’t?”  
  
Blaise turned his gaze to him, a questioning brow raised. “What happened?”  
  
“Potter and Weasley,” Daphne hissed, her book now falling into the floor.  
  
Blaise threw his head back and laughed. “This is about last night, isn’t it? Don’t worry about it too much, Daph. This was how we used to talk to each other in Hogwarts all the time. And Draco’s probably feeling bad because of his crush on Potter.”  
  
Draco’s entire face heated up as he felt the girls’ curious stares on him, and as a way to avoid them, he turned to Blaise with the worst sneet he could muster, clenching his jaw as he spoke, “I thought we swore never to talk about that again.”  
  
Theo guffawed as well, ignoring him. “Oh, right! I almost forgot about that!”  
  
“He’s probably just beginning to fancy him again—”  
  
“I don’t like Potter!”  
  
“That’s not what you said in sixth-year,” Theo pointed out, “when he was stalking you because he thought you were bringing Voldemort back or something. I remember it like yesterday—you thought Potter fancied you, so in retaliation, you fancied him back.”  
  
“Draco!” Tracey gasped, her lips opened in a gape and turned upwards in a proud smile at the same time. “You hussy!”  
  
Oh, how he wanted to dig himself a hole deep enough to fit the tallest building in the world (found in Dubai) and die in it.  
  
Pansy poked his sides, smirking. “So, what did you like about him, Draco?”  
  
“He was fit,” he mumbled, feeling as though his cheeks were hotter than the sun. The girls, with the exception of Daphne, giggled at his response, but he was quick to amend it, “back then, I mean!”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re still denying your gayness after that,” Millie said, still chuckling.  
  
“Did Potter actually like Draco back then, Theo?” Daphne asked, frowning.  
  
“No,” Blaise answered for him. “Before the holidays, Draco asked him out on a date in Hogsmeade, but, of course, the Boy Who Lived To Be Straight was horrified, and Weasley laughed his arse off.”  
  
Theo nodded in agreement. “They’d always teased about Draco being…  _effeminate_ and all, but the harsh insults didn’t start until that moment.”  
  
Were his friends really teaming up for Draco’s utter destruction?  
  
“Let’s not talk about that anymore,” he grumbled, uncomfortably shifting to a new position.  
  
All of a sudden, he felt Daphne’s arms went around his figure. “Oh, I’m sorry, Draco. I didn’t know you still liked Potter.”  
  
“I don’t,” he insisted, pulling away from her hold.  
  
“I’m sure you still have a chance, Draco.” Millicent placed an unwelcome comforting hand on his shoulder that he quickly shrugged off.  
  
“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” Tracey piped up, actually appearing concerned for him for the first time in their entire lives.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, his patience running thinner than Millie’s fake eyebrows. “I did! Back in Hogwarts! He didn’t like me then and would never like me if—”  
  
“How are you going to know if you don’t try?” Pansy voiced the stupidest question he’d ever heard. Everything she said sounded like those supposed inspiring quotes plastered everywhere in little tea shops.  
  
“I’ve already tried!” he exclaimed, exasperated. If he were in Dubai, he never would have needed to deal with stuff like this. “I don’t like Potter anymore! I actually—I think I like his friend.”  
  
Blaise blanched, his nose wrinkling in an ugly manner. “Weasley?”  
  
Draco shook his head, pulling up his knees and burying his nose into them.  
  
“Granger?” Daphne softly asked from beside him. “The girl? Hermione Granger?”  
  
With such a simple gesture as him nodding, the girls went wild, and Draco had never been more terrified in his life.  
  
As the girls continued to go bloody mental and laugh their tits off, he glanced at Theo and Blaise who wore the same panic-stricken expression.  
  
What, in the name of Severus Snape’s foot fetish, was going on?  
  
“Oh, Draco.” Pansy sighed almost wistfully after they’d composed themselves. “Your peculiar tastes continue to amuse me.”  
  
Sharing another befuddled look with the boys, he demanded, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Hermione Granger—well, she’s quite the complicated woman,” Pansy elaborated, confusing him even more. “She wouldn’t be the kind of girl who would go for a bloke like you.”  
  
Draco frowned. “Why not?”  
  
“We all went to the same school—” Pausing for a quick session of rolling her eyes, Tracey muttered under her breath, “—small bloody world, I know, but Granger’s a part of this perfect little crowd, and we never really talk to each other. She was called the Brightest Witch of Her Age by every teacher she ran into. She was an annoying know-it-all—”  
  
Pansy cut her off, “And just about every desirable boy was in love with her. She didn’t want anybody, though. We all jested about Granger having an attraction towards Quidditch players because they’re all she ever dated.”  
  
“I can play Quidditch,” Draco said, feeling as though his heart was about to prance out of his chest from apprehension.  
  
“Barely,” Theo bantered in good humour, snorting a few of his brain cells to death.  
  
“She dated Viktor Krum,” Millicent blurted out, gushing beside him.  
  
“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered the exact words Draco was thinking.  
  
Viktor bloody Krum—how could he compete with that?  
  
Without any sort of warning, all of his self-esteem and confidence abandoned him for a moment, leaving him with nothing but insecurity and doubts.  
  
Did he actually have no chance with Hermione?  
  
Luckily, his insensitive and unnecessarily mean friends answered his silent question for him.  
  
“I don’t want to break your heart, Draco,” Daphne started, but he knew all too well she didn’t truly care about anybody’s heart, “but Hermione Granger’s a handful. You wouldn’t even know how to  _convince_ yourself you deserve her.”  
  
Pansy nodded at her words, agreeing. “I think she would like a man who would be able to handle her—a man who wouldn’t be afraid of her.”  
  
“I’m not afraid of her!” He actually was. He was afraid of her ability to break his heart without trying.  
  
“She dated McLaggen, too.” Millie dreamily smiled, apparently continuing her little fantasy consisting of Quidditch players.  
  
Tracey followed Millicent’s thought. “He was a prick but probably the best Keeper I’d ever seen in Upper School.”  
  
“What we’re trying to say is—you shouldn’t waste your time on her, Draco. Honestly, I think you’d have a better chance with Potter,” Pansy finished.  
  
Merlin, he felt like he was a hundred and two years old with a thousand diseases mingling in his body, about to die already.  
  
He needed a nap.

* * *

“Do you think I have a chance with Hermione?”  
  
“What?” Potter blinked a few times at him. No surprise there. The Boy Who Lived was always confused, the pitiful cretin he was. Draco wondered how he’d gotten through the many hardships of life just by being confused all the time. Now,  _that_ was a skill Draco would like to learn.  
  
“You heard me,” said Draco, gnashing his teeth.  
  
“Chance at _what_ with Hermione?”  
  
The accusing glint in Potter’s green eyes made his cheeks warm up just a tad. “At a relationship.”  
  
Potter’s eyebrows stressed closer to his eyelids, and he looked as though he’d eaten something unacceptable. “Why are you asking me this?”  
  
“I followed her for a whole day, and you’re always there beside her,” Draco rushed the words out, getting infuriated and impatient. Why did Potter have to be so dumb?  
  
“You stalked her?” The Boy Who Had Broken His Heart In Sixth-Year sounded horrified. Good.  
  
“No.” The lie slipped through his lips without hindrance.  
  
“And you want to be in a relationship with her?”  
  
Draco practically felt his soul screaming out in pain as Potter continued to play the little sceptic friend. Merlin, he was so done with him already. “Yes.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
He sneered, taking offence at the tone Potter had chosen. “Have you bloody seen her? She’s perfect! She’s so adorable in her yellow jumpers and blue skirts. And the way she laughs at you and Weasel’s stupid faces every time I look at her literally moisturizes my skin. Whenever I see her on the beach and try to start up a conversation, she always has her nose buried deep in some bloody book—what kind of insane person does that? Oh God, I think I’m in love with her! The pastels are horrendous, by the way, but I’m still in love with her.”  
  
If his head weren’t buried in his hands after his little speech, he would’ve seen the hilarious, wide-eyed expression Potter wore on his ugly face. Too bad, he hadn’t seen that.  
  
“But I thought you were—I thought you… liked men,” Potter lamely said, staring down at the table for some odd reason. “I mean… in our sixth-year, weren’t you in love with  _me?_ ”  
  
Draco shot a scathing glare, the words that dripped out from his lips seething and practically sizzling. “My world doesn’t revolve around you, Pothead. Just because thought you were fit back then doesn’t mean I ever  _loved_ you. Get your head out your hairy arse—you are not worthy of my genuine affections.”  
  
“So you’re not—I mean, no homo?”  
  
He rolled his eyes so hard at the back of his head that he swore he felt his pupils get stuck on the back of his neck for a moment. “I’m not gay.”  
  
“Are you su—”  
  
“Yes!” Draco resisted the urge to throw his drink at Potter’s face and just walk out of the pub in full dramatic fashion, with his nonexistent heels clacking as he stormed off and his hips still seductively swaying from side-to-side. “Are we quite done with the interview?”  
  
“You should’ve asked Ron instead of me,” Potter said, shrugging. “He fancied Hermione for a long time before he met Lavender.”  
  
Draco shuddered at the mere thought of conversing politely and cordially with the Weaselbee. “I don’t address plebeians in public, Potter, don’t be absurd.”  
  
“You do realize that if you really want a chance with Hermione, you got to stop insulting us like that?”  
  
Actually, no, he hadn’t realized that at all. Truth be told, all he thought about when Hermione was concerned was how the sunrays fell upon her lovely face, how her smile seemed brighter than the bonfire that they’d encircled in a party they’d gone to last night, and how her arse looked so snug in the white cozzy she’d chosen to wear earlier today.  
  
“I know that,” he lied once again, shooting up Occlumency shields in his mind when Potter stared at him a little too intensely. He didn’t think Potter had the mental capacity to do something as complicated as Legilimency, but it was better to be certain. “Now, tell me some things I don’t know about Hermione.”  
  
“Um… she really likes books,” Potter offered unhelpfully, looking awfully pleased with himself.  
  
“Potter—”  
  
“No, she  _really_ likes them—more than anything in the world, I think. And Luna once told me that she’s interested in barely-known ancient magic. She enjoys figuring things out, you know? She’s really smart. If she thinks she could solve a problem by herself, then she will.”  
  
Draco couldn’t help but give in to the force that made his lips pull upwards in a slight smile. He wagered Hermione would be the kind of girl who preferred intimate bedroom dates instead of fancy dinners and trips. Still, he couldn’t wait to ask her out on those fancy dates. He couldn’t wait to waste every minute with her.  
  
“Do you think…” he trailed off, hesitating but willing to take a chance. “Do you think she would go out with me?”  
  
Potter frowned. “I don’t really know. Ron said she wanted romance, gentlemen, courtship, and all that bull, but I don’t think you qualify for that. I can tell you myself that she’s not dating anyone at the moment, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk, mate.”  
  
Wincing at the friendly term Potter had used to refer to him, Draco grimaced and nodded. This was probably the best he could get from Potter. In a few seconds, he was on his feet, more than ready to rid himself of Potter’s company. When he remembered his manners, however, he stiffened and forced a quick mutter of ‘thanks’ out of his mouth.

* * *

Draco had come up with the best idea ever. No, really, he had to take a moment of silence for how brilliant he was!  
  
During the times when he got to ‘spend time’ with Hermione, he’d taken notice to the fact that she didn’t have female friends—not real ones, at least. Potter’s loony girlfriend and Weasley’s sister didn’t count.  
  
He’d also noted that Hermione didn’t really like chatting up with Potter and Weasley. Ever the odd third wheel in their triad, she spent more time staring at a book than talking to her so-called friends. Shame on them, Draco thought, for focusing too much on each other and not giving her the attention she deserved.  
  
Obviously, Draco had thought that Hermione needed to be surrounded by more women, preferably women who were as strong as her. After all, everybody needed supportive girl friends in their lives. And as infuriating as they usually were, he couldn’t bear to imagine living in a desolate world without Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent as his closest friends.  
  
Blaise and Theo could go fuck themselves on the other hand, even if he had known them longer than he had the girls. Sure, he would probably be willing to shoot one Killing Curse or two at anyone who harmed them, but he would never give his life for them. Well, he wouldn’t sacrifice himself for _anyone,_ really, not even his—  
  
That was not the point! What mattered now was his brilliant plan. His plan to dress as a girl and befriend Hermione to figure out if she'd actually be willing to date him.  
  
He chuckled lightly as a way of patting himself on the back. True, he’d come up with it because he couldn’t and didn’t want to face Hermione as the real him, but it was a brilliant idea nonetheless.  
  
He smirked at his own reflection, cupping his newly-charmed breasts through the lacy bra he’d bought for 10 Galleons. He’d magicked not-so-little Draco to press in between his butt cheeks, ensuring that it would never see the light of day whilst he was in his new form.  
  
He nicked some of Pansy’s and Tracey’s best makeup for the moment, lathering his face with it until he was unrecognizable.  
  
He had never dressed up as a girl before until now, but he’d always admired how gorgeous the designs on their robes looked. He loved wearing makeup, he supposed, and he loved it even more when others do it for him. He didn’t understand why. Just that it made him feel really pretty—prettier than he already was, of course.  
  
Draco had to physically stop himself from squealing in excitement.  
  
He held his yellow dress up for closer inspection, examining it for any dirt. He’d bought the type of clothes he knew Hermione would like—all in the colours of yellow and blue, of course.  
  
He’d even gotten four long wigs that matched his own shade of platinum blond (for 800 Galleons each, but whatever). Admittedly, he’d thought about getting an auburn shade, but he felt as though he was betraying his family if he did that, and any dark shade that wasn’t close to blond was out of the question for him. He loved his almost-silver hair and how ethereal it looked. He still wanted to imitate the face of an angel—even in his different identity.  
  
“Draco, what are you doing? You’ve been in there for two hours!” Daphne shouted from behind the bathroom door, rapping her knuckles against the wood.  
  
“Shut up!”  
  
Impatient bitch. Two hours wasn’t that long, and he’d never complained when she took five hours to do some sort of ritual for her stupid healing crystals—at least not as intrusive as she had just done.  
  
He deliberately took his time in pulling up his yellow sundress and took even more time strapping his heels in.  
  
Carefully setting the blonde wig on his head, Draco smiled at himself in the mirror and uttered his new name, “Calpurnia McCallum.”

* * *

“So… what do you think?”  
  
Tracey’s jaw dropped to the floor, Pansy’s fake lashes fell out from widening her eyes so much, Millicent looked confused, and Daphne—were those tears or sweat dripping down her cheeks?  
  
“Dra-Draco?” Pansy stammered.  
  
He laughed, realizing this was the first time he’d ever seen her so flustered. “Call me Calpurnia, darling.”  
  
“Calpurnia,” Tracey echoed, an indescribable glaze passing over her eyes. “You look amazing!”  
  
“I’m so proud of you!” Daphne gushed, wiping away the tears on her face. “You look so pretty!”  
  
“Thanks.” He managed to fake a flattered expression.  
  
“I don’t get it,” Millicent admitted even as she reached out a hand to touch his wig.  
  
Glaring down, he took her wrist in his fist and shook it away. “I swear to God, Millie, if you ever try to touch my hair again, I will take off these heels and kill you with them.”  
  
Millicent giggled. “How much did all that hair cost you?”  
  
He sniffed, crossing his arms over his now-existing breasts. “A lot. I doubt you’d be able to pay for it with your entire life.”  
  
“I don’t think a certain Ms Hermione Granger would appreciate those kinds of comments, Draco,” Pansy teased in a chastising tone. “She wants perfectness at its finest.”  
  
He nodded, a grimace making itself comfortable on his face without his knowledge. “Right, I’ll do just that.”  
  
He couldn’t wait.

When Calpurnia’s shoulder bumped against Hermione’s in the middle of the afternoon, somewhere near the waters, every part of her body ignited a flame.  
  
Apparently, they had collided a little too harshly and everything Hermione had been holding in her hands was now buried in the sand.  
  
They watched helplessly as the waves crashed into the shore and drenched one of Hermione’s books to utter destruction.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Calpurnia mumbled, her light voice fabricated by a helpful spell. She dropped to her knees instantly to gather Hermione’s things that hadn’t been reached by the water—her wand, a bottle of sunscreen lotion, a hairbrush, and a change of clothes—before handing them over to her like an offering.  
  
She hadn’t meant to knock off her belongings, but who the hell carried so many things using their hands alone? Could this girl get any stranger or adorable?  
  
Her heartbeat tripled when Hermione frowned at her as she took her books from her. “Aren’t you—”  
  
“Would you like a drink?” Calpurnia cringed inwardly as the words escaped her mouth. “I’m really sorry about the book, I can replace it if you want—I was just—”  
  
Her frown slowly transformed into the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen. “No worries. I wasn’t really looking while I strolled, anyway.”  
  
“Would you mind me buying you a drink or two?” she insisted, hoping not to sound too desperate. “Or go with me to the nearest bookshop so I can replace that book. I feel really bad.”  
  
She glanced around the beach, seemingly searching for her answer in the numerous drunk people that littered the place, before looking back at him with an even more breathtaking grin. “A drink sounds really nice right now, but do you mind if I just go to my hotel and put all my stuff there? To avoid them getting thrown into the ocean again, I mean.”  
  
Was that a joke? Should she laugh? Or was Hermione truly offended by what she had caused to happen to her novel?  
  
Thankfully, Hermione must’ve noticed her plights and immediately informed her, “I was kidding.”  
  
“Oh.” Calpurnia blinked. “Okay.”  
  
And so, they began their journey.  
  
“What was your name again?”  
  
She couldn’t help but smile at her beautiful curious face. “McCallum. Calpurnia McCallum.”  
  
“Unique name,” she commented with a contagious grin. “I’m Hermione Granger.”  
  
“Your name fits you.”  
  
“Hmm? What do you mean?”  
  
“I don’t really—I don’t know. You’re pretty and your name is, too.”  
  
She chuckled a laugh that gave Calpurnia new reasons to live. “Thank you. I find you you very beautiful as well.”  
  
“Thank you.” In truth, Calpurnia knew just how well she physically looked, but Hermione’s words confirming that made her feel so much better than jump-starting her own self-confidence.

* * *

“This is my friend, Calpurnia McCallum.” Hermione gestured to her, giving a small smile to her group of friends.  
  
Potter’s girlfriend stared at her peculiarly, and Calpurnia had a feeling that she knew every secret she kept. Weasley’s sister looked uninterested and just waved a casual hand.  
  
Potter and Weasley themselves frowned at her, looking her up-and-down.  
  
“Hello!” Calpurnia hid the annoyance she felt as they continued to look at her strangely and faked the most cheerful voice she could muster.  
  
“These are Harry, Luna, Ron, and Ginny,” Hermione continued, pointing at each person she'd mentioned.  
  
“Hi, Calpurnia,” she heard Ginny and Ron mumble under their breaths.  
  
“Such a strange name,” Luna said in the weirdest tone Calpurnia had ever heard. She was looking at her with bright blue eyes (surprisingly, probably brighter than Pansy’s). She had a dreamy smile on her pale-as-paper face. Calpurnia could only assume that Luna had smoked a few funny cigarettes before they’d gone here. “Daughter of Lucius, hmm?”  
  
Calpurnia’s fists clenched, her fake nails almost bending in half. She instantly built up her Occlumency walls. Had this Luna girl figured out who she actually was?  
  
Then, she came up with an admittedly pathetic excuse. “My parents are fond of Roman history.”  
  
“You remind me of someone,” Potter spoke up, his green eyes staring into Calpurnia’s very soul. “Have we met before?”  
  
“Not that I know of.” She nervously chuckled, her fingers toying with her hair out of habit. “I’m sure my face is very generic, Harry.”  
  
Inwardly, Calpurnia shuddered in revulsion. She hadn’t called Potter by his first name since the time she had told him she fancied him back in their sixth-year. The name Harry itself triggered unpleasant memories.  
  
She was sure Potter remained unconvinced, but after a few moments, he nodded. “So, where did you and Hermione meet?”  
  
“Somewhere near the beach.” Hermione smiled fondly at her. God, she felt like she was melting under her lovely gaze. She'd managed to remain close to her for a week now, and her effect on her still hadn’t worn off. “She actually destroyed one of my favourite books, but we’re friends now, so I don’t mind it as much anymore.”  
  
Weasley laughed so hard that she was sure all the freckles on his entire body fell off and grew back in a matter of milliseconds. “Which book was it?”  
  
“It’s not that funny, Ronald,” Hermione scolded, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Where do you live, Calpurnia?” Luna spoke up before an argument began.  
  
“London,” she answered instantly, recalling that it was the same answer she'd given a few days ago. “I came here for a change of scenery.”  
  
“You came here for the summer alone?” Potter asked in his usual interrogative tone. He’d make the most irritating Auror, she was sure of it.  
  
“Yes,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “Does that sound too suspicious to you, Harry?”  
  
Potter shrugged. “I don’t know. Sounds a little strange to me certainly.”  
  
“Oh, for Godric’s sake—leave her alone, Harry!” Ginny rolled her eyes. Calpurnia fought back a sneer; even the shade of her eyes screamed poverty. “We all know you’re hard as a rock for your upcoming Auror training, but the rest of us here don’t like the questioning attitude, you know.”  
  
Calpurnia chuckled at her words, deciding that the girl Weasley was better than she’d originally thought and begun his journey of attempting to like her.  
  
In another life, she might’ve considered being Ginny’s friend, but alas, one could not change fate, and so she had to suffice for a quick mumble of, “Thank you.”  
  
Potter reddened in embarrassment, muttered an apology to her, and the rest was history.

* * *

Hermione Granger was quite an adorable drunk. She danced on top of the tables. She did whatever her friends told her to do. She flirted with anyone who came near her. And she even told Calpurnia that she was the most beautiful person she'd ever met. If she were not drunk herself, Calpurnia would’ve swooned at Hermione’s words.  
  
At the moment, she sat by Hermione’s side, unable to leave from beside her. She'd fallen quite deep for the incredibly intelligent witch, and she was sure that she would fall even more after today.  
  
She felt her eyelids closing half-way as Hermione continued to prattle meaningless questions beside her. Calpurnia McCallum was a sleepy drunk. She was unable of conjuring deep thoughts and comprehensible words with her alcohol-addled mind. All she could truly think about was sleeping and Hermione—or sleeping with Hermione.  
  
The arm she’d been resting on gave out entirely to drowsiness, and her face fell into her forearm in a disgraceful manner, almost effectively sending her off to the wonderful world of being unconscious. She’d been 0.3 millimetres close to falling asleep when she felt something brush against her lips—the soft, wet, and made her body tingle everywhere kind of something.  
  
She absentmindedly put pressure on the lips kissing hers. The gentle movements of the lips against hers were absolutely out-of-this-world! She was shivering all over. She was warming up all over. She felt loved in every part of her body. Kissing was such an underrated spiritual moment.  
  
Colours began splattering across her closed eyes when she felt the tip of a tongue probe her shut lips. She opened up for it instantly, letting it explore her mouth before she delved in with her own tongue.  
  
As they continued to calmly snog each other, Calpurnia decided that lazy kissing and sweet pecks were her new favourite things.  
  
It turned her entire body into a buzzing mess, but she didn’t feel it was sexual at all. Kissing this person felt like something similar to breathing—it was just natural, and one did not think about it too hard. Kissing her was probably one of the reasons Calpurnia was still alive.  
  
Wait.  
  
Her.  
  
_Hermione!_  
  
Draco—still dressed as and pretending to be Calpurnia—jolted completely awake from his sleepy state, his still drunk brain capable of only thinking of one thing: _Hermione kissed me. Hermione kissed me. Hermione kissed me._ _  
_ _  
_ Hermione kissed him! When he was dressed as a girl!  
  
He was delighted and heartbroken at the same time—he’d never been more confused in his entire life.  
  
Hermione was… gay?  
  
She must be—it was totally logical. She’d willingly (drunkenly) snogged him when he was Calpurnia. She knew Calpurnia was most certainly a girl. And she kissed her.  
  
Hermione was gay. She preferred women—who wouldn’t?—and she would never take a liking to him, at least not in a romantic way like he’d wanted. She was not attracted to men. She liked women. She loved women.  
  
With that conclusion, Draco could proudly declare that he was now completely sober, and not for the first time in his life, he wished he’d been born female.  
  
When Hermione reached over to him, leaning over for another snogging session, Draco regrettably shooed her away and left her all alone and confused in the dark booth.  
  
He was an idiot. More specifically, an idiot who wanted to lay on a soft bed in a luxurious hotel room in Dubai and cry for a lifetime.

* * *

“Cheer up, Draco,” Pansy softly said, serving him a bowl of cereal like he preferred on miserable days. “I’m sure she's thinking of you right now.”  
  
It had been two days since he’d found out Hermione’s sexual orientation. He would never judge her for it, though, no matter how hard he tried to hate her. He was bisexual—he understood her abnormal (by society’s standards, at least) attractions more than anyone. He understood how she must’ve thought how hard it was to come out of the closet, seeing as he’d never actually outed himself either.  
  
Everybody—even his friends and family—thought he was gay at first glance. Just because he never enjoyed disgusting ‘manly’ things didn’t mean he was a faggot or a fairy or a twink. Everybody just thought it was okay to assume his preferences—it was like they knew him better than he did himself, for fuck’s sake! He was sick and tired of it.  
  
He was sure when the news of his getting into crossdressing reached his parents, they’d joke about him being gay again. It wasn’t fair. It was like men like him weren’t allowed to feel pretty, and that was all he’d felt whenever he’d turn into Calpurnia McCallum, _pretty._ Men deserved to feel pretty, too. Men deserved a chance to wear skirts and dresses too, if they wished, without being automatically labelled as gay.  
  
He wasn’t really certain about where his apparent gayness came from. He’d always made his attraction for both sexes known. He’d even formally courted Daphne Greengrass’s sister a few years back!  
  
He just couldn’t get a break.  
  
Staring deeply at the flakes in the cold milk, Draco confessed in a monotone, “I’m bisexual.”  
  
Wow. He hadn’t even known there was such a heavy weight sitting on top of his chest until he’d said those two words aloud. Holy shit. He felt great, all of a sudden.  
  
Almost immediately after, Draco was brutally attacked by several hugs and words of support.  
  
“That’s great!”  
  
“I’m glad you’ve said it out loud!”  
  
“I’m so happy for you!”  
  
“We love you still.”  
  
He felt like crying.

* * *

It was so bloody convenient for Hermione Granger to appear on their doorstep just right after he’d accepted she was gone.  
  
When Pansy had called him from his little bundle of heartbreak to come to the front door, Draco had no idea he'd find—and Hermione Granger fidgeting in her little yellow and blue jumper had not even crossed his mind.  
  
She looked amazing. She'd cut off her hair, shaping her face beautifully. Her brown eyes stared into his very soul, and he felt obligated to bare it to her.  
  
“I know that you’re Calpurnia,” she blurted out, her cheeks blushing the prettiest shade of red after she realized what she’d said.  
  
Draco couldn’t do anything but gape, waiting for an explanation.  
  
“I knew it was you from the beginning,” she began, chuckling nervously—which was silly; she had no need to feel nervous around him. “I mean, the next time you buy a wig—choose something that’s not close to your real shade, at least.”  
  
His cheeks heated up. “Blonde looks good on me.”  
  
She smiled, the slight upward turning of her lips making him feel warmer than the sun’s mean rays on the beach. “It does.”  
  
They let silence reign over them for a moment, smiling at each other like a couple of kids madly in love before Hermione spoke up again, “Harry told me that you fancied me, and I thought that you dressing up was just your way of trying to catch my attention, so I went along with it. And you seemed to love being Calpurnia, anyway, so I never felt the need to… break you out of that fun little hobby.”  
  
Draco nodded, his mind focusing on her gold-painted toenails for some reason before he raised his gaze to her face again. “It was a stupid idea. I’d thought that, maybe, you’d like a female friend, so… I became one.”  
  
“Well, you were the best female friend I’ve ever had.” She grinned, and he swore his entire world stopped for a full minute.  
  
He couldn’t help but smile back.  
  
“Was—” she hesitated, inhaling a short breath. “Was Harry right? Did you actually fancy me?”  
  
“Yes.” The word escaped his lips without warning.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why?” he repeated, incredulous. “Do you know yourself, Hermione Granger? You’re… perfect!”  
  
A deep blush fell over her features. “I don’t—”  
  
“I thought you were pretty when I first saw you, but as I got to know you better—I fell irrevocably in love with you.”  
  
“Love?” She looked up at him with a hopeful pout and twinkling eyes. “You love me?”  
  
“Yes.” Draco felt his chest constricting in a familiar feeling called heartache. “I know you don’t love me, though—and probably never will—but that’s alright with me. And as cliché as it sounds, I’m happy so long as you are. I’m happy even though I don’t have a chance—”  
  
She interrupted his embarrassing ramble with a kiss, and he was grateful and shocked at the same time. He didn’t even have time to kiss her back before she pulled away with a smirk. “I think… I think I’m in love with you, too.”  
  
Draco’s jaw unhinged and dropped into the floor. “W-what?”  
  
She laughed at his gobsmacked expression. “I’m in love with you, too.”  
  
“But I thought you were gay…”  
  
“I’m not,” she swore, taking his hand for her own. “I love you. And that’s probably the most un-gay thing I can say right now.”  
  
“So you’re willing to go out with me? The real me?”  
  
“I’d go out with you as Draco or Calpurnia, but if I were to be honest, I much prefer the latter because—”  
  
This time, it was he who cut her off with a breathtaking kiss.  
  
“I’m not going to dress up again,” he said, knowing that it was most probably a lie. He loved fitting himself into dresses and heels. Women’s lingerie made him feel sexy. He felt great as Calpurnia, and he’d probably dress up again if Hermione permitted him to. “Not in public, at least.”  
  
“Oh.” Hermione blinked for a few seconds, then turned redder than ever before. “Would you dress up in my hotel room for me?”  
  
He smirked, tangling his fingers with hers. “Ms Granger, you naughty girl, I would absolutely love to.”  
  
Then, they kissed again and again and again. For all eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the riddikulus mods for hosting this wonderful fest!!! And much beta love to Littleguppy!


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